


Mealtimes with Bruce

by BatzMaru65 (tmweis2771)



Series: A Peep into SuperBat's Life [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fun, Lovers to Married, M/M, Slice of Life, Very very slight sexual implication, mention of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmweis2771/pseuds/BatzMaru65
Summary: How will mealtimes change for Bruce with first, Clark moving in and they living together as boyfriends? And then later, how will mealtimes be like for Bruce married to Clark and with his kids - Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian included?Just lots of fun and humor and a peep into their lives as a family.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Clark Kent, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Superman/Batman
Series: A Peep into SuperBat's Life [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388353
Comments: 6
Kudos: 153





	Mealtimes with Bruce

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series that I post on my Tumblr - Superbat Addicted. Titled as 'Just a Thought Off My Head", this is my seventeenth thought about Superbat and the Batfamily.

Bruce did not like to eat. That was not because he disliked food. He just has too many tasks to see to and having a meal eats into his precious time.

So his usual preference was protein shake for breakfast, easy-to-wolf-down sandwiches for lunch and a-quick-gulp-down stew or soup for dinner. Actually, Bruce would rather have protein shake for all his meals but Alfred had put his foot down and so he had compromised.

However, all that changed when he and Clark began living together.

Most weekdays, Bruce could still get away with his protein shake, sandwich and stew or soup combo. But sometimes, when Clark managed to get off work early, stew or soup would be off the menu. Instead, there would be a three-course dinner, much to Bruce’s dismay.

“But I don’t have the time!”

Bruce would complain and attempt to leave once he had finished his appetiser. But Clark would grasp his wrist and smile that beseeching smile of his. And Bruce would return to his seat, muttering about the main course being his last before taking his leave.

However, the main course always dragged on way too long due to Clark’s excitability. He would exclaim how marvellous Alfred’s cooking was, cutting bite-size pieces to give Bruce a taste. In turn, Clark would beg for a sampling of Bruce’s dish and since they always had different main courses (Alfred’s idea), Bruce had little excuse to reject his boyfriend.

At first, it was awkward as hell for Bruce. But with repeated experience, he grew to enjoy this intimate ritual of theirs (though he would never openly admit it). Time seemed to fade away as their world shrunk to just the two of them, sharing a meal and a chat. By the time desert rolled around, they would either be out on the balcony, enjoying the summer night or snuggled in front of the fireplace while snow fell outside.

“But I don’t have time...”

Bruce would say, an arm wrapped round Clark and his head resting on Clark’s shoulder or chest. And Clark would press a kiss to the top of Bruce’s head or face before murmuring.

“One minute more...”

That, both of them knew was an utter lie.

* * *

Come weekends, Bruce’s perchance for quick bites would simply not be entertained.

With Clark to keep him company throughout the day (unless he was off to work or save the world), Alfred would take the day off, leaving him in charge of Bruce’s food intake.

Like Alfred, Clark believed in good food and he had the culinary skills to deliver such meals too. So Bruce’s weekend brunch was never just toast and coffee. It was a feast.

Besides the stacks of pancakes and waffles with their dollops of jam and cream and syrup, there were also plump sausages and chicken steak. Complementing them were fresh greens, sautéed mushrooms, baby potatoes and whatever seasonal produce Clark could get his hands on.

And that was not all.

On the table, there was always a basket of fresh-baked muffins or scones or whichever confectionery Clark fancied making. Of course, that came with its own accompaniment of butter and honey and jam.

The first time Bruce laid eyes on Clark’s version of brunch, he had turned green and bolted out of the kitchen. But before he could leave, Clark had sauntered out from the pantry, dressed in nothing but a frilly and a very short apron. Bruce’s brains simply malfunctioned at the sight. And he went, meek as a lamb, to the dining table, eating every bit while deliciously pampered by Clark's impeccable service.

When he finally regained his senses, very much later, Bruce dashed straight to his gym, working furiously to shed the calories off. He swore never to fall for Clark’s tricks again but his boyfriend’s ingenuity was just too irresistible.

* * *

With the adoption of Dick then Jason and Tim, and then Damian’s addition to the family, there were now more mouths to feed.

Clark was delighted. Having grown up as a single child, he now relished the hustle and bustle the kids brought to him. Undaunted by the diverse tastes they each possessed – Dick’s perchance for cereals, Jason’s chilli dogs’ craze, Tim’s love for pizza and Damian’s Arabic background – Clark happily experimented with ways to incorporate the kids’ favourites into his dishes. Even Alfred was swept up by his passion and the two of them would collaborate from time to time. 

Bruce was also delighted with his expanded family. However, his joy was based on reasons very different from his husband. With both Alfred and Clark’s attention diverted by the children, Bruce thought that he could return to his old ways – protein shakes and sandwiches and stew or soup for his meals, and more time for his busy schedule.

How wrong he was.

Rather than being left alone, Bruce was dragged into every experimental dish that Clark and sometimes, Clark + Alfred could come up with.

“So...what do you think? Will he like it?”

Clark would ask, wringing his hands anxiously as Bruce tasted the latest creation – _za’atar_ tacos or _dandan_ pizza or _kimchi_ chilli dog or cereal-coated eggy bread.

Bruce would then ponder for a bit, fork tapping his lips before finally giving his nod of approval.

But Clark was still worried.

“Wait...I’ll go get them.”

And his husband would dash off to gather the kids for an impromptu food-tasting. Alfred would join in too and the whole lot of them would scrutinise every aspect of the dish – the proportion of condiments, the type of ingredients, the cooking style. Even the garnish was not let off easily and debates over the merits of coriander vs parsley vs cilantro, could drag on for quite a while.

All these, Bruce watched in great amusement, tickled by the grave seriousness his family took to the matter (they looked like they were wrangling with a life-or-death situation).

To be honest, half of the terminology used in these sessions, simply flew over Bruce’s head. The wonders of the culinary world had never captured his interest and he wasn’t a fussy eater either. As long as the edibles was not burnt, undercooked or liable to cause him food-poisoning, they all tasted fine to him. So he couldn’t understand how his family could argue for days over the right temperature to cook a perfect soft-boiled egg.

Too often, Bruce would just be a listener in such critique sessions. He could have easily sneak off and none would have been the wiser, so caught up were they in the heat of the discussion.

But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he sat in the high chair by the kitchen island, chin in his hand and elbow on the countertop. His eyes would dart from one family member to another as they gestured and grabbed ingredients from the fridge or a pot off the shelf or tiny bottles of unknown spices from the pantry. Then there would be a whirlwind of commotion as each or teams of them cooked up a storm to demonstrate their point.

“So what do you think, Bruce!”

They would plonk their dishes in front of him, glaring belligerently at each other and urging Bruce to make his decision.

And Bruce would taste each of them with the solemnity of a judge, pursed his lips to give them the due amount of consideration needed before making his final pronouncement.

“But they all taste great to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this. And take care everyone.


End file.
